


Monkey Tree

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: A Million Little Pieces [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Fashion & Couture, Hurt, M/M, Malfoy Manor, Modeling, Monkey Tree, Pain, Rock Star!Albus, Self Harm, happiness, self discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-26 06:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3841381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tied to the rat race,<br/>A big bird in a small cage.<br/>You're tied with a tightrope,<br/>And you wiggle but it won't let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monkey Tree

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the follow up to Geronimo, which can be found in my works.
> 
> I hate myself for being so cruel to Scorpius and Albus because they are our one truly cute and fluffy pair. 
> 
> But I also love torturing my little charges, as you can CLEARLY see here.
> 
> Endless love and adoration to Unkissed, my friend and muse in all things.
> 
> For Albus, our favorite boy in the band.

When you open your eyes it takes you a moment to realize where you are. You’re lying atop a wrinkled but still-made up bed inside a hotel room and for a fleeting expanse of time you cannot remember what city you are in. You blink away the vestiges of sleep that still cling to your vision and gaze up at the ceiling, your mind working overtime to assimilate your dreams into waking reality. You had been dreaming of waterfalls and Albus and although it feels as real as the clothes you still wore from the night before, you realize with a sinking sadness that you aren’t quite that lucky.

You roll over and stare out of the parted curtains to the beach that is just out of reach beyond your windows, brows knitted together with a reflective sadness that contorts your entire face. Of course the waterfall had been a dream. A fantastical escape into a subconscious that felt foreign to you. The vision of Albus bathed in curtains of cleansing waters feels startlingly real to you still and it hurts to know that even your own mind could be so cruel.

In your own time you heave a deep sigh and sit up, pushing dirty fringe out of your eyes as you slide off the bed to retrieve your mobile off the table across the room. You know that the chance of having a message from Albus waiting for you are slim to none but you check anyways and when what you already know is confirmed, you stare down at the screen until the illuminated words slip out of focus.

Although your journey of self-discovery was nothing more than a likely alcohol-induced fever dream, you want to believe that your subconscious was trying to tell you something. An extended moment passes you by as you stare down at the muggle device in your hand and when you reach up to swipe the sleep and fresh prickling of tears out of your eyes, you know what you have to do.

The text you send is not to Albus, although _his_ will come soon enough. For now you punch out a quick text to Alexa, who will definitely not understand you but will accept your decision because she is more than just a talent agent. _I’m sorry._ You send off the cryptic text and then quickly swipe back to the stale conversation with Albus, fingers shaking as they hover over the screen. _Going home._ You are not expecting a response and you don’t wait for one.

An hour later you step out of your hotel room and head for the lobby where you will slip out the front entrance and climb into one of the many waiting taxis before you can think better of it. You instruct your driver to take you to the airport and then slide your sunglasses on and drop back against the seat. You can feel the mobile vibrating in your pocket and you ignore it because you don’t really want to talk to anyone. The drive is quiet and cathartic and when you roll down the window just enough to smell the salt of the ocean stretched out beside you, you shut your eyes and smile.

You are halfway to the airport when you ask the driver to “stop for a minute,” and he does, even if he is slightly confused by your request. You ask him to wait and then scramble out of the backseat. The warm breeze catches your hair and makes your skin tingle and you express a quiet sigh as you step onto the sand that reaches nearly to the paved road and head towards the water. When you reach the edge of the seemingly endless ocean you pause and stare out at gently breaking waves and take in the moment. You may not have gotten to see those waterfalls outside of your dreams but that doesn’t mean that you don’t appreciate Costa Rica for all that it has managed to give you. You pull out your mobile and hold it without looking at it and when you toss it as hard as you can into the ocean, your smile is genuine for the first time in a very long time. You have been running on empty for so long that you don’t know how to feel anymore. Somewhere along the way you lost yourself and although the noose that your life has become still feels desperately tight around your neck, you long to be free again.

The last thing you see as you leave Costa Rica is that crystalline water breaking beneath you and when you slide down the barrier on the window and shut your eyes, you can’t wait to get back to London.

∞

Heathrow hits you fast and hard and before you know it, you are standing on the street basking in the damp dreariness that you hadn’t realized you desperately needed. You feel naked and vulnerable without your mobile and it takes you a minute to acclimate to that sensation. You have become wholly independent on muggle culture and way of life to the point of embarrassment, and although London definitely awakens the dormant part of yourself that you forgot existed, it is still quite a shock to the system. The city that surrounds you is like a steady heartbeat that has been waiting to bring you back to life and when you step off the curb and cross the narrow street against traffic, you are eager to get home and put this all behind you, at least for a little while.

It doesn’t take you terribly long to duck into a shadowed back alley and although you are desperate to remove yourself from the thrum of the city, you freeze because you are still just a scared little boy who is afraid to be alone. Were you crazy for cutting off contact and running away? Did that make you a failure or weak or a disappointment? What would your parents think? Would they tell you it was okay while gazing at you with pity that was never as concealed as they thought it was?

Torrents of rain pelt you from every angle, soaking you to the bone, as you stand there, confused and second-guessing yourself. You struggle with what you want to do versus what you should do and it picks away at your resolve like a predatory bird harvesting a rotting corpse. After yet another extended moment, you tell yourself that this is what you need to do and you shut your eyes and disappear.

When you open your eyes again you find yourself outside the gates of Malfoy Manor and although you have yet to step foot back into that world, the weight of the moment is not lost on you. Your knees buckle and you hit the gravel with hard, gasping for air that you cannot seem to locate. You are suddenly unsure if you can do what you came here to do and as you struggle to find the resolve that you so desperately need, you are completely unaware of how reminiscent this exact scene is of a different time and a different Malfoy.

You push yourself off the ground with a strength that has been bred into you and step up to the wrought iron gates that protect one world from the next. You lift a shaking finger to the cool black metal who’s touch is as foreign as what you’ve become and when the gates shake beneath your caress, you bite your bottom lip and hold your breath. Like the whole of the estate, the gates are charmed to react to blood and they swing silently open for you, allowing you entrance. The unmistakable tingle of magic passes through you as you step onto Malfoy soil and it sends a shiver racing down your spine as you make your way up the extended drive towards the manor house that stood looming in the distance.

It has been more than a year since you’ve been here and although the house is deathly silent, a sense of comfort and familiarity washes over you. The sky overhead is murky at best and the closer you get to the house, the stronger you feel. You long to shed your rain-soaked clothing and curl up in your grandmother’s chaise in the library like the child you still feel like. When you step inside the manor it is as if time has ceased to exist here—As if everything inside this house had been patiently awaiting your return. All of the furniture is shrouded with thick white sheets and you cannot shake the feeling of being lost in an abandoned museum as you slowly move from room to room. You are standing in the doorway to the sunroom when your thoughts turn to Albus, and it hurts more than you had anticipated.

When your father had signed the manor over to you and Albus it had shocked you both, and although either of you had yet to actually call it a home, the memory of the moment still made you smile, even if a bit sadly. The two of you had talked endlessly about your plans for renovation and redecorating and this room in particular had been the subject of hours of speculation. It broke your heart to look at the vacant room now, knowing what it could have been instead of what it had become. You couldn’t stop hot tears from burning your eyes as visions of Albus’ smiling face sprang into focus in the cruel depths of your own mind. You felt numb and cold from more than just the wetness that encompassed you and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the beginning of your life or perhaps the end.

By the time you found your way up the grand staircase and to your rooms you were tired and emotionally drained. You knew you should get out of your clothes and take a warm bath but you couldn’t fight the pull of the bed that stood waiting for you in the far corner by the window. The pillows smelled like dust and nothingness and you thought that it was rather fitting as you closed your eyes and shut off the world around you. You longed to dream of waterfalls and kisses but in the end, you dreamt of nothing at all.

∞

“Time to wake up now.” The vaguely familiar voice filtered through your subconscious, quietly calling out to you and willing you into waking. Your eyes slid open just enough to gauge your surroundings and you stifled a yawn and stretched. Every inch of you was stiff and sore and you could not stop the soft groan that prattled past your lips. “There you are.” The voice said again and this time you recognized it and you instantly smiled, despite the heaviness that still weighed on you.

“How’d you find me?” You asked around another yawn as you sat up and found a set of blue eyes watching you.

“It wasn’t that hard to figure out where you’d gone,” He replied with a shrug as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed near your feet. “Besides, your father has extremely effective detection spells on this place.” He added with a knowing smile and a wink, which made you smile in return.

“I guess I can’t even manage to run away properly.” Your smile falters with your words and you look away because you don’t want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

“Is that what you’re doing?” He asks, gaze still focused on you.

You consider his question for a moment before you realize that you really hadn’t thought this plan out very well at all. You had acted purely on impulse when you fled Costa Rica, which doesn’t upset you nearly as much as you think it should. “I don’t know,” You say, lifting your gaze to meet his again.

He smiles again, warmly, and your breath stalls in your throat as tears threaten to spring to life in the corners of your eyes. For as long as you can remember Theodore has always been there for you. He entered your life with the promise of always looking out for you and he has never once given you reason to doubt that. He’s always been the one you turn to when you think that your father would not understand and you mentally kick yourself for not thinking of reaching out to him before now.

“I just…” Your words die on lips that are caught between your teeth, unsure of how honest you are ready to be with yourself. You had returned to London with a purpose that had been born to too many desperate actions but now that you were faced with the prospect of saying it out loud, you were not sure that you could. “I don’t know who I am anymore.” You add with a voice that is little more than a broken whisper that breaks his heart. Theodore never wanted to see you like this. You were the closest thing he would ever have to a child of his own and he was disappointed in himself for failing you.

“What do you say we look for you over breakfast, hmm?” Theodore pushed aside his feelings of inadequacy and slid off the bed, determined to give you whatever it was that you needed, however late he might be to the party.

The prospect of sustenance seemed to awaken the hunger that you had been ignoring and you smiled and nodded, suddenly ravenous. “Pancakes?” You say with a knowing smile as you follow him out of the room towards the staircase. “And coffee. Lots of coffee.” He adds with a wink and then you both laugh because the meaning had superseded the moment.

 

∞

By the time you and Theodore were ready to actually eat those pancakes, every surface in the kitchen looked as if it had barely survived a tornado. Flour and sticky globs of egg white littered the countertops and the double sink was stacked with soiled dishes. Instead of moving to the formal dining room you chose to pull up a couple of barstools and sit at the counter, which worked well considering how much closer the coffee kettle was.

 

“So, what happened?” He asked around a mouthful of pancake, blue eyes piercing you with an intensity that you haven’t experienced in a long time.

You shrugged non-committedly around your own forkful of food, chewing thoughtfully as your mind wandered back to that runway in Costa Rica. You can still feel the sting of the ache that threatened to consume you, still see the flashing of countless light bulbs. You wanted to tell him that you were fine; that you were over reacting and that everything would be okay, but you couldn’t even get yourself to believe that.

“I don’t want to wake up one day in ten years and regret my life. “ You glanced at him over the rim of the coffee mug pressed against your lips before continuing. “I feel like the last couple of years have been an endless series of steps in the wrong direction; like…I’ve been wasting my time doing something I happen to be good at instead of something that I love.” You couldn’t help the faint stain of crimson blush that flooded your cheeks as you spoke. You hadn’t meant to be so transparent this early in the game but then, Uncle Theo had always had that sort of effect on you; like you couldn’t help but spill all of your secrets in hopes that he would plaster you right up.

Theodore’s brows drew together as you spoke and he was itching for a cigarette but he ignored the urge for now, replacing the need with a generous dose of caffeine before he drew in a deep breath. “You sound like you already have all the answers you need, maybe I really am too late to this party.” He laughed lightly under his breath and shook his head and the disheartening realization that you were no longer a little boy in need of assistance hit him harder than he let on.

“I think I sound a bit mental, myself.” You said with a bit of a strangled laugh of your own.

“Not at all. You sound like you already know what you need to do.”

“Then why do I feel so lost?”

“You have to be lost before you can be found.” His words stilled your pulse and the voice died in your throat. You stared at him for a moment, eyes wide and mouth slackened as you turned his words over in your head. Your tongue darted out and dabbed at a drop of syrup on your bottom lip and you dropped your fork, suddenly feeling vaguely sick.

“I’ve really fucked this all up.” You muttered as you dropped your head into your hands and closed your eyes and ignored the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“Hey,” He said softly, placing a hand on your shoulder that felt warm through your shirt. “Everybody falters, it’s human nature. But not everyone can recognize their mistakes for what they are and learn from them. The important thing is that you do what is right for you, everything else is secondary.” His words weighed on your conscious. Of course he was right, you weren’t so foolish that you didn’t realize that, but you still weren’t convinced that your life would ever be anything else than the detached monster that it had become.

“I guess I’m a really slow learner.” You say a while later with another bitter laugh.

More than anything you want to believe that he is right and that you can truly be who you want to be, but you were scared of the consequence of living and so you sipped your coffee and pushed down your insecurities instead.

“It’s a Malfoy thing.” He said, smirking as he drained the remaining contents of his coffee mug.

“Does my father know I’m back?” You asked, more than happy for the opportunity to shift the subject onto something far more innocuous than your myriad of problems.

“He does, yes.” He said, nodding solemnly as he rounded the counter to refill your mugs. “But I asked him to give you some time.” He added, not looking up from his task of pouring hot coffee.

“Thanks,” You said, unable to help the smile that curled the corners of your mouth upwards.

You have no idea what you have ever done to deserve this kind of love and support but you are eternally grateful for this man; more so than he could possibly ever know.  
∞

“You’ll ring us up, if you need anything?” It was several hours later before Theodore was ready to return home to your father. You had spent the afternoon together, walking the grounds and reliving memories of the past, which had served as the perfect therapy for your damaged soul. You felt ridiculously loved every time he pointed out a particular location with a story behind it from your childhood and when you stole one of his cigarettes he called your behavior “typical Malfoy,” and was not nearly as shocked as you thought he would be. It was a good day and exactly what you needed and by the time he was ready to go, you felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders and it felt damn good.

“Well, I don’t have my mobile anymore, but I can send post, if I remember how.” You laughed at your own joke and when he gave you a quizzical expression, you laughed harder. “Long story, “ you added, shaking your head.

“Here, keep mine. Your father still has his, even if he would never admit to using it.” Theodore’s eyes sparkled when he spoke of your father and although it made you happy to know that two of the most important people in your life were so happy, it made you quietly yearn for something else you had lost.

“Thanks, Uncle Theo.” You say, hugging him tight before taking a step back and watching him go.

When he steps into the floo and disappears in a swirl of green smoke your smile falters and you clutch the mobile in your hand tighter than intended and just like that, you feel more alone than ever.

∞

You find yourself thinking about Albus while you sit in the bath, and the irony of being submerged in water is not lost on you. The tap drips sporadically and upsets the surface of the water but you hardly notice. Being at the manor is like a blinding reminder of where you came from. Everywhere you look is a glaring spotlight on the memories of the things you have experienced and emotions that you have felt.

You had had your first kiss right down by the lake, surrounded by your friends and drunk on more than just alcohol that you had nicked from your mother’s liquor cabinet. It was the last day of summer before your fifth year at Hogwarts and you can still remember the way the air smelled and how time stopped when Albus was up on that stage. You had always been his biggest fan but at that moment in your lives you were a boy on the verge of the rest of his life and that kiss beneath the summer stars was the beginning of a new chapter in your life and you never once looked back.

Until now.

Albus had been a part of your life from the moment that you met. The lack of boundaries that you shared came natural to you both and as you grew, your two souls intertwined into one vessel.

You step out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your waist and glance over at the bed, a faint smile twitching the corners of your mouth. It had been within the walls of this very room when you started yet another chapter in your life. By the time you were sixteen years old Albus had managed to single handedly shatter every single misconception you had about love. He had shown you the beauty of being loved and loving in return and you had always known that there was no one else in the world that you would ever love as much as him. When you gave him your virginity in this very room it was the culmination of everything that you couldn’t begin to understand. That singular act beneath the cover of darkness had solidified what you had always known, what you had forgotten as you got older, and what you desperately wanted to get back now.

It was that desperation that had you reaching for Uncle Theo’s mobile with a shaking hand. You may have been terrified of what you may have already lost, but it wouldn’t stop you from putting up a fight to get it back. You had to try.

You typed out Albus’ cellular number without thinking, having long ago memorized it. Of course it was rather late in the states, or early depending on how you chose to look at it, but Albus has always been a night owl and you were hopeful.

The line rings three times before someone picks it up. Someone who is definitely _not_ Albus. The voice is masculine and has a German accent and you can’t stop yourself from pulling the mobile away from your ear to check the number. You blink at the illuminated screen and although you are more confused than anything else, your pulse quickens all the same.

“Er, I must have the wrong number, sorry.” You say a bit lamely.

The voice on the other end laughs lightly at your choppy response and you can’t help but shiver imperceptibly at the tone. You tell yourself that you have the wrong number even though a large part of you knows that you don’t and although every part of you is screaming for you to hang up, you can’t.

“I’m trying to reach Albus Potter?” You say with a voice that sounds very little like your own.

“Ah yes, little Albie. He’s….A bit _tied_ up at the moment.” The voice on the other end is seductive and sinister and chuckling around the words spoken into the speaker and it sends a cold chill over your scalp that leaves you reeling. The air stills around you and the bottom drops out of your entire world and you think that you would much rather return to the pain on that Costa Rican runway than what you are grasping at now.

You barely hear the voice when it asks if you’d like to leave a message and you somehow manage to mutter a “no thanks,” before disconnecting and dropping the phone on the bed. You know that you are in no position to be angry—Your behavior has been anything but angelic and the recent memory of a certain airline bathroom makes you cringe in disgust. You think you would like to cry but the tears don’t come and so you are forced to sit there and wallow in the realization that your marriage was over before it ever had a chance to truly begin.

Hours pass you by and you don’t even notice because you are sick with the knowledge that the things you had once considered yours were no longer yours at all. You torture yourself with wondering how many hands have more than likely touched Albus and you wonder if he was ever really yours to begin with and when you finally do manage to cry it only makes the pain of the reality that was staring you in the face hurt that much worse.

It is some time after dawn when you finally drift off to sleep and although you are terrified of what you will see when you shut your eyes, you can no longer fight the exhaustion because you have nothing left. Your sleep is riddled with distorted images in nightmares that you will not remember and you never once hear the vibrating mobile beside you in bed.

When you wake up again the room is dark and cold and you rub at your eyes and glance at the window. You can just make out the shape of the moon beyond the sheer curtains and you wonder how long you’ve been asleep. You abandon your bed and leave your rooms, bare feet padding silently along the lush carpet that lined the dimly lit halls. You bypass the grand staircase in favor of the first door down the hall opposite—Lucius’ study. You had never met the man but you had certainly heard enough stories about him to sufficiently give you nightmares as a small child.

You let yourself into the spacious office and pause just inside, pale gaze sweeping the entire room before closing the door behind you. You are well aware that you don’t have to sneak into a dead man’s private study to find alcohol, you are fairly certain the cupboards are still well-stocked from your mother’s residency here. Truth be told you weren’t really here for the private label whiskey, although it certainly helped. You sat yourself down in his impressive chair and placed the bottle on the desk before leaning back and propping your feet up like you owned the place. (Which, technically, you did!)

You know that what you are doing is completely counter-productive but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter if you are not entitled to the feelings of betrayal that were threatening to consume you. You ignore the logical part of your brain that wants to point out that you are guilty of plenty of betrayal all on your own. You drown yourself in your grandfather’s vintage liquor in hopes of numbing the pain but instead it only magnifies it.

You have no idea why you came in here or what you thought you were doing in the office of a man who would have disapproved of every single aspect of your life. You aren’t looking for comfort so much as a way to amplify the hurt because you were never really any good at self-control. Albus has always served as the anchor that weighs down the self-destructive part of you and without him you have been utterly drowning. You know that it isn’t really his responsibility to fix you, even if you still wish he would.

The urge to smash and break becomes overwhelming and before you can help yourself you are grabbing up a snake-headed walking stick and smashing it over glass shelves that all offered a tiny bit of satisfaction. Shards of glass litter the ground all around you and you don’t even notice when it pierces the bottoms of your feet because you are drunk on whiskey and resentment and despair. By the time you leave the study you are much more calm and you pad silently back to your rooms where you will collapse back onto the bed and sleep through another day. This isn’t self-pity, it’s self-destruction and you have always had it inside of you, however hidden.

 

Three days pass before anyone thinks to check on you, and although you are not even close to being up to socializing, you are relieved when Alexa is the one who pays you a visit first, instead of a member of your family.

“You look like shit.” She says when you open the door for her and when she lowers her sunglasses to have a closer look at you, she doesn’t even try and pretend she isn’t disturbed by your appearance.

You turn away from the door without responding and lead the way towards the barren sunroom, which you have made into a makeshift hideaway with blankets and pillows.

“Seriously S, what is going on with you?” She is right on your heels as you move and when you drop down onto a pile of pillows you have pilfered from other sections of the house, she drops down beside you.

“Nothing.” You say, shrugging a shoulder in a gesture that is not nearly as practiced as it once was.

“Bullshit.” She spits back, undeterred.

Alexa Montague and her twin brother Duston have been your closest friends since you were a very small child. Between the two of them they represented every possible thing you could ever need in a friend. Where Duston was more even-tempered and always willing to help you solve a problem, Alexa was brash and blunt and always ready to exact revenge on the behalf of a needy party. She had a knack for talking to people and getting what she wanted, which is why she had quickly become one of the most infamous and respected talent agents, muggle and wizarding world alike; you included. You knew that it was futile to lie to her because she would keep poking the subject until she got the information she wanted; which was one of the many reasons you loved her.

“I’m done.” You say to her after a long moment of consideration, and when you meet her gaze you think she understands, despite your lack of explanation.

“Formichetti is going to be absolutely gutted.” She says with a smile and she does not miss the quiet sigh of relief that escapes you that you try to hide.

“Faces like this are a dime a dozen, honestly, I’m not that special.” You don’t mean to sound so morose and you hope that she knows you well enough to realize it.

“Don’t be an arse, S, you know you’re special.” Her words are blunt as ever and you cannot help but smile fondly as she discards her sunglasses and leans back on her elbows. “Look, if you want to wallow in this creepy old house all by yourself and lose your mind for a while, I get that. I can support that. But don’t ever think you aren’t special or that you don’t matter, because you aren’t a god damned Hufflepuff and you should know better.”

You chew absently on your bottom lip as she talks and you fidget with a rogue string in the seam of the jeans that you wore. You knew she was right, of course, they were always right—The people who always managed to turn up to try and fix you when you needed it most. Except you didn’t want to be fixed, you wanted to forget everything about the last two years is all. No problem at all, right?

“I don’t mean it like that. And I know what you are saying. I just…I need some time.” You lie back and stretch out beside her as you speak and when she doesn’t immediately respond you both lay there in your own silence.

Minutes tick past before she reaches for your hand and laces her fingers with your own. She knows that you don’t need someone to fuss over you and she isn’t really cut out for that sort of thing anyhow. But it doesn’t stop her from caring about you and this is her way of telling you so.

“What says the husband?” She asks finally and when your response is nothing more than a disgruntled snort, she rolls over on her side and props hear head up with an open palm. She peers at you with a look that is far too eager and you smile despite yourself and the feeling that still clings to you like a death shroud. “Do tell,” She says in a quiet whisper as she leans in and pokes you in the ribs.

“I called him, when I got here.” You say offhandedly and you steadily avoid her piercing gaze.

“And?” She prompts without missing a beat, somehow managing to lean closer still.

“And nothing.” You say with a shrug and then you snort again and roll your eyes up at the high vaulted ceiling.

“Oh come on, S. Tell me!” She is practically vibrating with anticipation beside you and although you would rather do anything at all but rehash that particular phone call, you cannot deny her.

You emit a soft sigh and close your eyes because you refuse to let yourself cry again. “He didn’t answer.” You say quietly, abused bottom lip caught once again between your teeth.

“So you left him a message?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what? You hung up?”

“No.”

“Okay?”

“Someone else picked up.”

You can practically _hear_ the realization as it clicks into place inside her head and although your eyes are still firmly shut, you know which reaction she is wearing on her face without fail.

“That little shit.” She mutters quietly, plans of retribution against Albus potter already forming in her twisted little head.

“It’s not like he’s the only one, A. I mean, I’m not exactly innocent here.” Your reply is quick because you know all too well what Alexa Montague is capable of when she is angry and no matter how upset you are, you wouldn’t wish her wrath on anyone, least of all Albus.

“It doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t be fucking moronic enough to let a shag answer his phone.” Her tone had switched from concerned to clipped and it was clear that she was becoming more agitated by the second.

“The guy said he was tied up like he knew who I was and wanted to be sure I understood who _he_ was. Can you fucking believe that? All thick German accent and sexy wordplay. I could have died.” You know that you are only fueling her fire but now that you’ve started talking you can’t seem to help yourself. Maybe you did just need someone to talk to after all.

“German accent eh? I bet he’s gorgeous.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Yeah, sorry. Thinking about Albus and hottie German guy shagging now.”

When your eyes fly open to glare at her she is grinning knowingly down at you and you cannot help but be affected by her crude sense of humor. Alexa may have a corrupted sense of right and wrong but at the end of it all she was still looking out for you, and you couldn’t deny that.

“I hope he’s horribly disfigured. I don’t particularly enjoy the image of my husband screwing someone prettier than me.” You sniff haughtily and attempt a shitty imitation of your father and when she shakes her head and laughs, you are quick to be affected by that too.

“Maybe he’s got an embarrassingly small prick?” She offers helpfully, which instantly sets you both into another fit of therapeutic laughter.

The sound of your laughter bounces off the empty walls like an echo and you feel better than you have all year. You will always be eternally grateful for this freeing moment of clarity with Alexa and it is something that you will never forget; even years down the road. When your laughter has subsided to the occasional giggle you lie back on an open palm and stare up at the ceiling. Alexa scoots close enough to lay her head in the bend of your arm and rest an arm across your abdomen, which feels oddly comforting. You have no idea what will happen tomorrow or next week or the week after that but you think that you just might be able to face whatever comes your way because you have finally realized that you are not as alone as you think you are.

“I love you, S.”

“I love you too, A.”

 

∞

You spend the following two months putting your soul back together behind the gates of Malfoy Estate. On the good days you walk down to the lake and sit on the dock with your feet dangling in the water and you tell yourself how lucky you are to be alive and well. On the bad days you don’t even get out of bed and are very rarely sober and it is enough to numb the pain for at least a little while. You are fairly certain that Alexa had issued warnings to anyone who might fancy contacting you because you haven’t heard from anyone at all and you are fine with that, if not mildly curious about the  _warning_ you assume she gave Albus. When the silence becomes deafening you disappear into the gardens to lie down in the grass and listen to the topiary animals frolic when you aren’t looking.

During one of your solo exploration missions within the vast walls of the manor you came across your old sketch pad in the cellar and reliving the memories tied to the countless rough sketches of Albus occupied an entire day. There was a time when you used to cart that stupid pad around with you everywhere, and although you were never quite as good as your mother always said you were, you remember how happy it used to make you.

Drawing quickly becomes your pastime and your passion and days bleed into weeks without you even realizing it. Before you can stand back and cock your head at your most recent canvas, four months have passed you by. You become obsessed with drawing and painting and it serves as both a distraction and a cathartic exercise for you. You are sprawled out in the middle of the lawns the day you hear the creak of the wrought iron gates at the end of the extended drive and when your brush pauses above the canvas mid-stroke, you know that it is him.

It takes only a glance over your shoulder to confirm what you already know and then you are up—scrambling to your feet and running barefoot towards him. He sees you coming at him and stops dead in his tracks and although you feel like perfect strangers, you cannot deny the sense of completeness that he brought home with him.

He looks so much different than you remember and you pause for a moment to take him all in. He looks like a worn out older version of himself to your eyes and you cannot help but notice that he seems to have lost every ounce of the innocence that used to cling to him like a beacon of shining light. He offers you a smile that makes your heart bend and twitch and you bite down on your bottom lip because you had never anticipated it being this difficult.

There are so many things you want to say to him and when he looks at you just like _that_ you realize that none of it matters anymore. You had disappeared from the world because you needed to find yourself, but it isn’t until this very moment that you realize that the parts you were missing belonged to Albus.

“Welcome home,” You say, and when he drops his bag on the ground you smile tentatively at him, closing the distance but not touching him. Yet.

“You’re a sight.” He murmurs a bit awkwardly and rubs at the back of his head, which you cannot help but find endearing.

It is at this exact moment that you decide that nothing else needs to be said. Despite the countless hands that have touched him you alone have had the express privilege of knowing him on a level that no one else could compete with. He was your mirror image, your better half—Two souls in one messy and fucked up vessel.

When your arms slide around his neck and pull him close he releases a shuddering breath that is not lost on you and you bury your face against him and breathe him in. He smells like soap and regret and home and it is all that you have ever needed. When his arms wind around your middle and pull you against him you smile into his skin and you tell yourself that this entire journey, hell, this entire life had been worth it in the end because you are together, exactly as it was at the start.

For a long time neither one of you is willing to break the contact and you don’t mind; you’ve got years of making up to do. Later, you will take his hand and lead him up to the house and for the first time in your lives it will be the place that you call home. Together you will finish the renovations and the redecorating and it will all start with the sunroom. You can be happy together, you know that now. He is more than the rock star and you were never the model—Just Albus and just Scorpius. Always.

**Author's Note:**

> Much of the fine details in this story (like hottie German guy and Albus and Scorpius' career choices) have been created by Unkissed. I am merely borrowing and building upon them.


End file.
